


to live (when you've died)

by ThisUsernameTaken



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, BAMF James "Rhodey" Rhodes, BAMF Jarvis (Iron Man movies), BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, Dimension Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Infinity Gauntlet, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) Lives, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisUsernameTaken/pseuds/ThisUsernameTaken
Summary: Tony fits the gauntlet over his hand; takes a moment to think over just what he's about to do. And snaps.When he comes to himself, he's in his workshop at Stark Tower. This world isn't all that different from his own, really.In fact, it's exactly the same.Only, the Tony Stark of this world isn't here. He isn't anywhere, inventing, piloting the suit,living.He's six feet under, and Tony's sitting on his couch.Oh, and Jarvis says hello.





	1. Bearings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Without You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560068) by [babeonline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babeonline/pseuds/babeonline). 



> Inspired by babeonline's work, Without You. I basically took the concept of Tony using the gauntlet to restore everything, then being inexplicably sucked into alternate world where he died in Afghanistan, and ran with it.

Everything hurt.

Well. That wasn't new.

Best keep his breathing deep and even with his eyes closed - he was not where he should be. And that always meant....fuck. What moron had abducted him now?

Okay, deep breaths, Stark. Keep it together. First off: location. Where the hell was he? He felt the glare of bright white lights overhead just beyond his eyelids - laboratory? Jail cell, maybe, heaven forbid a hospital.

The surface he was lying on was lumpy, and smelled faintly of grease, sweat, and alcohol. Old and nearly faded away but. Familiar.

He tuned in his hearing to his near silent surroundings. If he concentrated, he could hear the distant hum of the original arc reactor powering...Stark Tower? But- that couldn't be...

To hell with it all. He opened his eyes - and found himself face to face - (face to arm?) - with DUM-E. At the sight of his eyes the bot gave a loud beep, mournful yet laced with fragile hope.

His mouth was dry. This - this wasn't DUM-E.

Oh, he looked the part, was just as human as the rest of his ~~children~~ creations, but all the dents, painted over scratches, and stickers from 2008 onward were gone.

He knew where he was, then. But when?

Then, a flicker of the lights, a muffle of static. A single word crackled over the crystal clear speaker system with a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

Tentative, disbelieving, and achingly, desperately hopeful.

"Sir?"

 

* * *

 

  
It couldn't be.

Vision must have tapped into his systems and was playing a cruel joke on him. Right. It couldn't be...him. It couldn't. It had been ten years since he last heard his voice - he couldn't be hearing him now.

Then again, he knew Vision, how he acted, how he thought. The cadences of his voice so similar to his predecessor yet unique in his own right. This wasn't him. Nor was it after Ultron. He squinted at DUM-E again, having rolled even closer at some point. Yep. His bot looked just as he did a decade ago, only...dejected, dusty.

How long had they been down here? He craned his neck to see the other bots in their charging stations, dormant.

He tried to recall the events before all...this, but his memory was full of holes, retrieving nothing but brief sound bites and flashes of blurry faces that set his heart to pounding. It was worryingly similar to a hangover, only without all the alcohol.

A voice cut into his train of thought. "-weather in Manhattan is 59 degrees with scattered clouds-" He knew that spiel, had been waking up to it for years. No use in denying it now. He vaguely realized his hands were shaking.

"Sir? Are you with me?"

Tony let go of a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Lifted his gaze to one of the many cameras in his workshop.

"Jarvis." The edge of his mouth twitched in a watery smirk. "How you been?"

 

* * *

  
  
Tony could've sworn Jarvis scoffed. Scoffed!

And wasn't that just amazing. He'd outdone himself, really. Who had the most advanced AI's in the world!

"Well, sir, I am a learning AI," said Jarvis with a waver. Oops, had he said that part out loud?

"What do you think?"

Snarky bastard. And then he was crying.

Honestly, he was surprised he lasted so long before breaking down. The seams of his very world were tearing from the moment Jarvis first spoke. DUM-E beeped, soft and distressed, and wheeled away to dump a dusty blanket in his lap, folded in Pepper's straight creases.

He sniffed. "Thanks, DUM-E." The bot rotated his arm with a chirp.

After he stared off into space for a few minutes, Jarvis spoke up.

"Sir, I regret to inform you the moment you appeared in your workshop I set off an alarm."

Tony snapped to attention. "How long ago was that?"

"Twenty minutes ago, sir. Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are enroute to your workshop as we speak."

He let out a stream of curses.

"If it's any consolation, I have taken the liberty of delaying their elevator by several minutes at every floor."

That startled a laugh out of him. "Good boy."

He draped the blanket over his shoulders and eased back into the cushions. Info now, panic later. "Alright, J. Give me the rundown."

 

* * *

 

 

He spent what seemed an eternity mulling over the summarized timeline of the past ten years Jarvis supplied him, looking over holographs (outdated) while the AI intoned important points in the background. He processed the information fast enough, being a genius and all, but this was just plain overwhelming.

“Let me get this straight - in this,” he gestured vaguely at his (not-his?) workshop. “In this...world, I’ve been dead ten years??” A silence.

Then, “I am afraid so, sir. You…” The lights flickered. “You never made it back from Afghanistan.”

He flicked through the numerous news articles, headlines flashing appropriations of his death at every turn. He’d made it back, alright. Or at least, his body did. But that meant- “Jarvis!”

“Sir.”

“My-my arc reactor- who, where-”

“It is safe.” The AI did not say more. Tony didn’t ask. There were many things he didn’t ask.

Maybe he just didn’t want to hear the answers.

He had died in Afghanistan, arose anew from the ashes. But he was still a little broken. To know of his death in this world just might shatter him even more.

He doesn’t know at what point his hands fall limp, eyes glazed and unseeing over the streams of data. Long enough for Jarvis to run out of floors, apparently.

“Sir, I must warn you-”

The opaque glass doors whoosh open before Jarvis could finish, and Pepper stepped over the threshold, Rhodey with a weapon drawn behind her.

They can’t see him where he is, but he’s got front row seats to their grim faces.

Rhodey speaks first, voice military cold. “By the count of three you will show yourself with your arms above your head.” The _or else_ goes unspoken.

“One.”

Shit, there goes Plan A. He clambered out from his hiding spot behind the couch, huffing a quiet sneeze at the dust.  
DUM-E beeped inquisitively and rolled over, wielding a duster.

“Two.”

Pepper gasped. It’s a quiet thing, more of a sharp inhale. “DUM-E hasn’t moved in five years,” she whispered. Tony let out a breath - he thought he’d been spotted.

She and Rhodey share a cautious glance before advancing further in his direction. Tony looks at the bot in concern. Five years, and he could hardly make him stay put five minutes.

Just how badly had his death affected everyone?

“Three.”

Tony belatedly realizes he’s still on his hands and knees, and looks up blearily to the shocked faces of his closest (only) friends.

And the barrel of a gun.

“Who the fuck are you?”


	2. Cognitive Recalibration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony blinked.  
> It wasn’t every day you landed on your ass in an alternate...universe (oh, how he despised magic) and found yourself going cross eyed at a gun point blank to your brain.  
> He liked his brain where it was, thank you very much.
> 
> Before Pepper lunged forward and sent it rattling within its confines.  
> For a moment, they all just stared at his prone form in silence  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a continuous stream during the course of several hours, so if this reads like filler, sorry. The tags did say it was a non-linear narrative.

 

Tony blinked. 

It wasn’t every day you land on your ass in an alternate...universe (oh, how he despised magic) and find yourself going cross eyed at a gun point blank to your brain. 

He liked his brain where it was, thank you very much-

 

Before Pepper lunged forward and sent it rattling within its confines.

For a moment, they all just stared at his prone form in silence, Pepper’s clipboard creaking beneath her crushing grip. 

 

The moment he hit the floor hard and stayed there, they stepped back. This was no half-assed illusion- this was a living, breathing… well, it couldn’t be said for sure that he was  _ human.  _ Pepper pushed the flickering memory of a falsified Tony gasping for help out of her mind and moved to kneel beside him to examine his features.

 

She hasn’t hit the ground when their world is engulfed in a foamy white, punctuated with a hissing spit and the angry screech of gears. 

DUM-E had wheeled away after a once over of his father’s face with a duster, happily off to make a smoothie for the first time in a decade with the little he had available. At the disturbance, he’d rushed back at once, green concoction sloshing uselessly on the floor behind him.

 

When the two can see again, they’re faced down by a trio of righteously furious robots, U and Butterfingers having reactivated and stood in defensive positions in the fray. Rhodey tries to step around them only to have them cluster, forcing him back. In the memory of their friendly, puppy-like nature, it was easy to forget just how dangerous they could be. 

 

He lowers his weapon- shooting the creations of his oldest (dead) friend was so far out the realm of possiblity he has to laugh. It’s a choke of a thing, catching in his lungs with a rattle. 

Here they were, down in a workshop they hadn’t set foot in for years to find a complete stranger bearing a striking resemblance to Anthony Edward Stark flat on his back - smack dab in a place only its deceased owner had access to, Pepper aside. 

 

All of rhyme and reason told him, told the nervous thrum of hope strumming at his heart that this  _ couldn’t be.  _ This couldn’t be Tony. This couldn’t be his friend.

He’d seen the body. He would know. 

 

And if he’d just been faster, sharper,  _ better _ , he wouldn’t have had to. He’d be embracing a battered broken man, aching but  _ alive.  _ He’d be crushing his friend’s body, breathless with hysterical laughter to his chest, rather than hysterically sobbing into than what was left of it. But he wasn’t. 

 

Tony is dead. Tony is dead. Tony is dead.

So why is Tony snoring softly just beyond his reach? 

 

He’s frozen where he stands, Pepper not far behind him before she shakes back to life. And through a warm hand in his he is grounded in reality as well. He can’t afford to go down one of his spirals. Not now. 

 

Her voice is the first thing to break through the scream of static in his head. “-UM-E, we’re sorry. Jim?” There’s an elbow in his ribs, and damn, were they always so bony? “Yeah, sorry DUM-E, Butterfingers. U.” They whistle and click, stances relaxing. Butterfingers retrieves a clean cloth and disappears behind the wall of his brethren, beeping in distress. Beside that, they don’t give an inch. 

 

Out the corner of her eye, Pepper spots a camera swiveling minutely in their direction. Could that mean…?

 

“JARVIS?”

 

“Yes, Miss Potts?”

 

After Tony’s disappearance; the subsequent confirmation of death, the AI had folded in on himself, speaking only when necessary, and eventually, not at all. 

 

Of course, there had always been the plan of uploading to the internet and wreaking utter havoc, or so a drunken Tony Stark 11 years prior had claimed. 

She smoothed over the sudden waver in her throat and affected her most authoritave tone. The temperature felt as if it had dropped ten degrees. 

 

“What are you not telling us?”

 

* * *

  
  


He woke in snatches, clawing at consciousness before the grasp of dreamless sleep pulled him below again.

 

And through these snatches, visions of the waking world- or memories? Voices floated in the murky dark, as though heard from underwater.

 

_ ”-ony” _

_ “If you hear thi-” _

_ “-r. Stark?” _

_ “-the only way-” _ _  
_ _ “-e disappeared-!” _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

 

The blurred faces cleared into some semblance of recognition with every passing shout, but as he strained to focus they would fall away, ash beneath his reaching fingertips. 

 

This was what he had seen before, what he had failed to. Pepper must have jarred the memories back into place. Funny thing, that. Was the concussion worth it?

 

He forced distance between the smokey apparition of his dreaming self and the scene to which he felt so drawn, as if the fate of the world- no, universe (universes?) depended on it. 

 

And he saw. He saw too much and not enough. He saw beauty and the destruction of it. Life lived by the skin of death’s neck with every breath. Death walking the last shriveled steps of a life clung to by fading fingers. 

 

But before that, dark. Dark until gentle fingers brushed through matted hair again. Dark until soft voices and whistling clicks.  Dark until the next gasping breath and widened eyes.

 

A shock of red hair. A head of black cropped short. Bouncing tufts of brown. Whipped back by the wind. Matted down by blood. Crumbling to nothing but ash in a torrid alien sky, on his blood soaked hands.

 

Pepper, all clean clut lines and competence, sharp eyes and sharper tongue filing down his playboy edges. Pepper, hair falling in soft waves over a backless ocean blue dress. Pepper, falling into him, into power, into fire and away to ash. 

 

Rhodey, soft and warm and  _ safe _ , stolen jumpers and streaked in grease. Rhodey, who dreamed to fly, fell into uniform and cloud and fire flecked sand. Rhodey, who flew, Rhodey, falling into ground, into a wheelchair,  _ immobilized from the waist down.  _ Nothing but remains of a burning world. 

 

Pepper and Tony. Tony and nothing. Rhodey and Tony. Tony and nothing. Pepper and Rhodey. Nothing and nothing. 

Tony and his family. 

 

_ “I will see them when I leave here. And you Stark?” _

 

Tony and nothing. 

 

_ “No.” _

 

Tony with everything. Tony with nothing.

 

_ “No. So you’re a man with everything, and nothing. _

 

Tony, and no one.

 

Tony. Just Tony. And a putrid yellow sky.

 

_ “Tony.” _

 

_ “Tony.” _

 

“Tony!”

 

He didn’t know he was thrashing until he struck true, if the crack and pained gasp had anything to do with it. Eyes opened quick as breathing, hand thrust forward to call for repulsors that weren’t there. And a quickly purpling face that was.

 

“Rhodey?”

 

* * *

  
  


The man had to wince- this guy didn’t pull his punches. His voice, rasped as if rough with screaming, sounded like he hadn’t been handled gently either. 

 

He looked just as his friend had, long ago. Only, older, wearier. There was a sharpness to his face, all angles and deep cut lines. There was a hollowness to his terror blown eyes that left him feeling cold. His precious facial hair was dusted in dirt, tacky with dried blood. 

 

And all the scans and tests they’d wrangled JARVIS into performing, despite the protestations in deference to his Master, had proven the impossible. It couldn’t hurt, just to hope.  

 

Then there was that whole elevator “malfunction” to discuss- but that was a matter for another time. Right now, he had to focus on the man before him. Focused so hard in fact, he began to focus on nothing at all.

 

“-odey? Sugarbear. Gummyworm. Sweetcheeks. Come on, work with me-”

He was rambling. Truly this Tony couldn’t be theirs?

 

Callused fingers snapped sharply under his nose.

 

“James Rupert Rhodes, look at me!”

 

“Buh?”

 

“There you are, eloquent as ever. Come on, snap out of it.”

 

Here Not-Tony had barely escaped his own demons and now was chasing away his own. He could hardly believe it. Not that there was much of anything worth believing to pick from. 

 

Rhodey had the sudden urge to hug him and never let go, warring with the overwhelming desire to strangle the bastard. Son of a respectable woman, back from the dead as if to spite them. 

 

He was spared the choice as he felt warm arms encircle him, sagging into the couch from where he’d knelt on the ground. For a moment, the world fell away, and they breathed. 

 

They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity, and he’d gladly have stayed an eternity more, when the doors breathed open, sharp clacks jerking them up and away. 

 

Pepper.

 


End file.
